


that i may hear my heart fall from your lips

by song_of_fate



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale loves Crowley, Brotp, Cohabitation, Crowley hums/sings when he's happy, Crowley loves Aziraphale, Dancing, Dates, F/M, Fluff, Getting Together (Officially), M/M, Post canon, Proposals, Retirement, Romance, Shit this is so soft you guys, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), There's a wedding, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Unhurried romance, Vacations, anathema and aziraphale are gossip pals, aziraphale is basically a walking lightbulb of affection, crowley can't contain himself, crowley teaches mischief to children, crowley teaches newt about plants, cuddly snek, did i mention how soft this is?, everyone knows, kitchen dancing, not theirs, not yet, you can pry dad!crowley from my cold dead fingers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2020-08-23 07:53:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20239351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/song_of_fate/pseuds/song_of_fate
Summary: There had been hundreds of thousands of moments stolen from them since that fateful day on the Wall. Now that the Apoco-lapse has gone, Crowley and Aziraphale get to experience what it means to live for themselves.(The Fic Where Understandings Are Come To, Dates Are Had, And Crowley Expresses Happiness In A Surprising Way.)





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> *spreads hands*
> 
> Here, have something soft. It's my heart. 
> 
> Warning: Very Likely To Cause Cavaties

Aziraphale almost missed it the first time.

The morning after their dinner at the Ritz had come and gone, shifting into a lazy afternoon that lingered like sweet wine on his tongue. Aziraphale was still basking in the remnants of their victory, his mind playing back how Crowley had walked him home afterward, and _oh, that had been rather lovely, _leaving him with a squeeze of his hand and a bright smile that Aziraphale had been helpless to do anything else but reciprocate because _they’d made it._ They could finally be as they always wanted to be — on Earth. Free. Together.

No words had been spoken on the subject out loud, of course, but Aziraphale had felt the shift as keenly as he would any other type of affection. Even if he was not in possession of the ability to sense happy feelings, Crowley had been positively ablaze with his own kind of joy. So much so that it bubbled freely over the curves of his lips and into Aziraphale’s own cheeks, until the angel had been almost unable to look upon him for how beautiful he was in that moment.

Oh, how he _missed him _and that feeling as soon as he'd gone. A strange, anticipatory thing that was rather new in its lack of urgency. He’d always missed the demon, even when he was hard-pressed to admit to it all those years. He knew that he had gotten quite used to having his counterpart close by over the last decade. Before when they would part ways it was with a twist of sadness, as Aziraphale would not know exactly when he would see his friend again unless the Arrangement called for it. Sometimes that was months, other times years. Each moment of separation shoveling out large pieces of his heart and laying them at Crowley's feet, long before he ever hoped to realize that was what was happening.

Now, everything was so very different.

Last night Crowley promised he would be back, and all Aziraphale had been able to think on was that they had so much_ time_ now. So many experiences they could now share together; new in the sense that they would be able to share it with someone they cared for. The prospect was _exciting, _and Aziraphale found himself almost giddy with it.

He had positively loathed letting Crowley leave, something in him was still nervous. Still imagining what would happen if they parted, that Heaven and Hell would re-double their efforts and simply catch them unawares when they weren't together. Part of him wanted to hoard Crowley close, keep him safe and sound here in his home until nothing could ever hurt either of them again. Aziraphale knew the thoughts were unreasonable, even a bit manic, and entirely too possessive for him to dare speak aloud. 

Even so, he entertained the idea of going with Crowley very seriously before finally deciding that would most certainly come off as a bit _too_ needy, and he really had needed to make sure the shop was back in order. Adam may be the Antichrist, but surely he couldn't know everything.

So he stayed put, soothing himself by marveling at the familiar feel of his bookshop. Taking stock of the newer additions that included not just an adventure series for children, but a small array of comic books that had left him chuckling at the workings of a young mind. Even as the morning waned into afternoon, and he hadn't had to deal with a single wayward customer, Aziraphale found himself sighing like a lovelorn damsel. Peaking out the front window hoping to catch a glimpse of his dearest friend.

Then, before the ache could settle too deeply, Crowley had come swaggering back into his space without so much as a knock at the door.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaimed, moving to set his book gently on the end table and smiling again. He was helpless to it, but he would no longer be ashamed of it. “What brings you here?” He stopped at the quirk of the amused tilt of the demon’s head and felt his face grow hot. “Oh. I—I mean, of course, you’re welcome here, my dear, whenever you like. It’s just that usually there’s a reason for it, isn't there?” The angel felt the heat creep up his neck at his stuttering. _Honestly, get a hold of yourself!_

Crowley’s eyebrows lifted behind his glasses, a smirk tilting his lips. “Funny you should ask. Cuz the thing is, I was just thinking how weird it was that I didn’t _need_ an excuse to come see you anymore.” He lifted his hand to toy with the edges of Adam’s display, and Aziraphale watched those long, breathtaking fingers smooth around the edges of an old _Tolstoy _with something exceedingly close to reverence. It hit Aziraphale hard in the chest to remember that Crowley had been here when it burned. Fearing that Aziraphale had well and truly died, and everything he had loved and cultivated over the millennia they'd known each other had gone up in flames with him. 

He'd taken a piece of the bookshop to remember him by; a sentimental gesture that had saved both of them in the end. 

And now they were here, together again, and Aziraphale finally realized what seemed so different about him. His shoulders were lax, without the ever-present line of tension that usually accompanied the serpent’s very existence. For once, Crowley was calm.

Crowley was calm because he was with Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale’s human heart rabbited so loud he was sure the demon could hear it. “I…Well, yes. Yes, I do believe that is something we no longer have to concern ourselves with.”

That tempting smirk softened into something different, something that made the angel’s breathing stutter when it had no need to exist at all. How had he managed to keep such immense affection at bay for so long? Aziraphale felt he would happily drown in it.

“Right,” Crowley said, slinking his way over to the couch and throwing himself down with all the careless confidence of someone who lived there. That thought alone brought another twist in Aziraphale’s chest that he was truly starting to become concerned about. “Don’t mind me, angel. Got a bit bored yelling at the plants, and the sun always feels different through those old windows of yours.” It was an excuse, and they both knew it but Aziraphale was not going to mention it, not when it pleased him so to hear it. Crowley tilted his head back to look at his startled expression, and there was a dusting of pink just under the ridges of his glasses. “Company’s better around this way, besides.”

Aziraphale almost couldn't recognize his own voice, the soft, loving candor of it as he replied. “Of course, my dear. Stay as long as you like.”

Crowley waved his hand, the smile never quite falling from his lips. “There’s a show in the park tonight, _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_. I figured we could stroll about and do dinner if you like.” He continued, settling into the couch and let his head fall just slightly to the side, looking like he was moments away from a nap.

Aziraphale smiled, because _of course_. Crowley did have a fondness for that one. All chaos with a happy ending. Just enough mayhem to delight in the absurdities while knowing that no matter what kind of bungling the characters had managed to do, things would turn out all right in the end. Crowley would never admit it, but he did always prefer the happy endings.

“That sounds lovely, Crowley. I’ll wake you in a few hours, then?”

“If you would, angel.”

Happiness filled Aziraphale near to bursting, even when he lowered himself down into his favorite armchair to resume his tea and thumbing through _De Profundis._ Just having Crowley there, breathing slowly on the edges of his vision filled him with such a sense of wholeness that Aziraphale could only, blasphemously, compare to the completion of being in the all-encompassing presence of the Divine. 

Yet he would bear it in relative silence, in best interests of keeping this new closeness of theirs intact. At least for now. It wouldn’t do to scare Crowley off when they had finally just begun…whatever this was.

And it did truly feel like something was just beginning. 

Aziraphale’s finger brushed down the edge of the page he was currently reading, gently lifting the end in anticipation of turning it when a light, melodic sound drifted from Crowley’s current perch.

The angel blinked, looking up at the demon’s red tuft of hair as the noise got louder. Crowley wasn’t sleeping after all. His knees were bent, moving back and forth in little motions with the tune, his head still turned towards the back of the couch. It was, to be perfectly honest, quite adorable.

Only the books were there to bear witness to the slew of emotions that crossed the angel's face. Curiosity gave way to shock, which then melted into a smile so tender it drew actual birds to sing from the rooftops of the shop and the glow within his human vessel seeped into the very sky, parting the clouds that had been threatening rain moments before.

Crowley was humming, and he was _happy_.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Mr. Anthony "I Don't Have A Romantic Bone In My Body" Crowley. 
> 
> and watch him lieeee.

“I can’t believe you haven’t come around to the outdoor theatre before, angel.” Crowley chuckled as the crowd dispersed around them. The park was still lit to let the attendees see their way from the show, fairy lights twinkling in the trees around the open-air stage, casting an intimate glow over the trees and fresh grass that settled like a warm blanket over their shoulders.

“I’d simply not had a chance to!” Aziraphale replied, stepping a bit closer to Crowley in order to avoid a family trying to weave their way through. At least that's what he told himself. Old habits did die hard, after all. “If I must remind you, the last eleven years we were in America having quite a time trying to avoid the end of the world, but _oh,_” He sighed, content. “that was absolutely stunning. They really are getting so creative with their stage mechanics these days. I truly have been missing out.”

Crowley scoffed, hands in the pockets of his too-tight jeans. “Oh admit it, you just wanted someone to go with.”

“Well, a good show is always better with a like-minded companion.” Aziraphale hedged, a bit of mischief racing along on the wings of his happiness that had him nudging his shoulder against Crowley’s. “I had rather been waiting for that nice lad down at the market to ask me to go. What was his name—“

“Angel,” Crowley growled, but there was no bite to it. Aziraphale smiled back at him.

He huffed, amused. "My dear, if I ever have to choose someone to experience the world with, I will always prefer it to be you."

And wasn't it simply a marvel that he was able to—_to say things like that now. _

Crowley's mouth did something strange, twisting and opening once or twice before clamping shut altogether in defeat and Aziraphale just smiled wider. 

They passed under a row of lights, warm and golden and Aziraphale only just caught the flush of red on Crowley’s cheeks. The demon feigned a cough, reaching up to lightly tug on the hem of Aziraphale’s jacket and lead him up off the beaten path and the throng of happy playgoers.

“Come on then. I promised you dinner didn’t I?”

Aziraphale furrowed his brow. “But there’s nothing up that way, my dear.”

Crowley shrugged. “There is when I say there is.”

The angel let himself be led deeper into the still wooded part of the park. Lanterns and string lights continuing to bask them in a warm, orange glow when they passed over a little bridge surrounded by dainty pink flowers that Aziraphale couldn’t quite remember the name of but found to be quite striking against the dark green of the bushes surrounding them.

Crowley tugged him along for another turn and Aziraphale noticed then that the lights were actually slithering along the trees like false snakes, changing directions with their movements and making sure their path was clear. Finally, his friend slowed to a stop, snapping his fingers once in quite a dramatic fashion to light up the clearing. Aziraphale gasped, his hand coming up to rest against his mouth.

Cheerful yellow daffodils, bright red tulips, and white carnations surrounded the area in a gorgeous spiral of color, leading down to the center where a familiar tartan blanket was spread out. He heard a stream nearby, hidden behind the throws of trees that enclosed the space to the rest of the world. From the center rose a grand old oak where the twinkling lights now hung like stars, illuminating a rather unassuming looking picnic basket that Aziraphale could tell was simply bursting full of all sorts of culinary delights and a chiller with two different bottles of wine that were some of his absolute favorite vintages.

His eyes snapped to Crowley’s, mouth refusing to work against the indescribable _thing_ that was growing in his chest.

“Well,” Crowley shuffled from foot to foot in a nervous gesture under his gaze. “What do you think? You’d mentioned something about a picnic once, so I thought now that things weren’t so mangled we could—yeah.” He cut himself off, turning his head to the side to avoid the angel’s stare. Aziraphale sucked in a breath against the tears that had sprung unbidden from his eyes.

_Maybe one day we could go for a picnic_. His own ghost whispered in his ears. Aziraphale remembered all too clearly the pain he had caused Crowley not so long ago. How he’d continued to do so with his fear and his cowardice right up until almost the very end. How it had almost been too late.

_I don’t deserve this._ He wanted to say, but Crowley was looking at him now, fear bleeding into the purposefully casual air he had affected. Always for his own protection, from the refusal Aziraphale was sure to give. Against, _“You go too fast for me, Crowley.”_

“Crowley.” He whispered instead, voice soft. “It’s breathtaking.”

Aziraphale saw the moment relief hit the demon-like a physical blow, shoulders slumping and jaw un-clenching enough to cast a sheepish grin his way. His glasses were black in this light, hiding his eyes from view but Aziraphale could feel the glowing ember of hope rising in his friend’s chest. He would make sure it stayed, he promised, cradle it between his palms and breathe life into it like the Almighty Herself had done for them. He would keep it close, cherish it and watch it grow. Anything to keep that spark alive.

“Course it is, angel. Only the best, you know that.” Crowley grinned freely now, pressing gently on Aziraphale’s back to lead him down into the clearing but Aziraphale twisted quickly, grasping onto Crowley’s arm to stall their movement.

“Thank you.” Aziraphale breathed into the space between them, pressing all of his belated apologies and veiled affection into each movement of his tongue. “Thank you for—being yourself. I don’t know how I would have found the strength without you.” He couldn’t say it, not now, but he felt it. Oh, he felt it. And he had never wished for Crowley to be able to sense love more than he could in this very moment. “Thank you for finding something in me worth knowing. For _this._”

Crowley made an odd noise in his throat, his face aflame and fingers twitching wildly. “It’s just a picnic, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale’s smile was a watery thing, and he let his hand slide down until he could grasp Crowley’s hand between both of his. “Nothing is ever _just_ anything with us though, is it?”

That seemed to catch Crowley off guard. His embarrassment forgotten at the tone and the Crowley turned to meet him. His brows furrowed, searching; Aziraphale could feel those yellow eyes tracing over every inch of his face, trying to find any hint of uncertainty. Any sign that he would step back, step away from him, tell him it was too much.

Aziraphale held still, tracing those long, elegant fingers in his own and letting Crowley take whatever he needed from him until he felt him grip back, squeezing. _I understand,_ the touch said, _I know. _

“No, I don’t suppose it is,” Crowley said, and perhaps there was a sort of wonder there in the rumble of his chest. Aziraphale wanted to hear it again. “Things are...different now. Aren’t they?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale answered. An affirmation. A prayer. An apology. “I believe they are.”

Crowley softened, and started to move but did not let go of Aziraphale’s hand. “Then I say it’s about time we enjoyed it.”

Aziraphale chuckled, a weight lifting off of his shoulders as he once more allowed himself to be led. Twilight turned to dusk over their heads as they dined, the wine disappearing and reappearing as needed. Aziraphale bothered Crowley until the serpent relented enough to taste one of the delightful tarts he packed up while they spoke about the play. They laughed at each other, at the world, at the truly mind-boggling way they managed to escape with their lives.

Though even when they had eaten and drank their fill, they found themselves sat up next to each other under the oak tree. Crowley dimmed the lights, waving his hand away so they could see the stars. He adored the stars, Aziraphale knew. One of the only pieces of his former self that the demon had dared to hold on to was his love of the universe and his pride in a creation that had been his and his alone.

“Tell me about them.” Aziraphale sighed, drowsy simply because he wanted to be. Allowing his eyes to become heavy, and his body to warm as he sat close enough to Crowley to tilt his head onto his shoulder. “Your stars.”

Crowley turned his head, his lips brushing over the feathery curls above Aziraphale’s crown once before retreating. The angel thought he may have dreamed it until he felt an arm snake around his shoulders; shy at first and then surer.

“Alpha wasn’t the only Centauri, you see.” Crowley’s voice was pitched low and melodic as he spoke. “There was Omega as well, and I decided that the whole lot should start using a bit more color. Couldn’t very well set the entire universe with the same old palette could we?”

If Aziraphale had been asked to explain his feelings at that moment he would probably bluster a bit before settling on ‘happy’ or ‘content’.

But later, as his breathing started to even and he slipped into sleep for the first time in two hundred years; as Crowley’s stories slowed into whispers of song woven into his hair, Aziraphale would have no other choice but to proclaim that he was very much in love.


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Domesticcc. 
> 
> I just wanted them all to be friends, okay? This fandom needs more BROTP time!

Aziraphale sighed into his cup of Darjeeling, leaning back into the plush patio chair Anathema had been so excited to show him when they’d arrived. She’d erected a pleasant shade canopy, with a quaint little table for four made of dark glass and wood and a darling white trellis by the doors that were simply overcome with deep purple clematis plants. They often took to relaxing out here when the weather was nice; and funny enough, the weather was still generally very nice.

In the weeks following the Apocalypse they, quite shockingly, decided to invite Aziraphale and Crowley over for tea at least once every two weeks or so, and while Crowley had initially been reluctant to take on human friends (they never lasted long, and it was so painful to watch them fade) Aziraphale managed to coax him into it.

Though the initial attempt had been rather awkward at first, neither pair not really knowing what to say to the other in the midst of everything that had happened; eventually they had managed to break the silence and Aziraphale found Anathema to be incredibly intelligent and refreshingly blunt. She had an eye for detail and a fondness for old languages. Needless to say, they’d become fast friends.

Young Pulsifer had mangled his way through a landscaping attempt, but the little stone path leading to their garden was sweet, albeit a bit crooked. Aziraphale thought that only added to the charm. The poor lad had made the mistake of asking Crowley his opinion on their new additions and was now reaping a punishment that was probably not entirely fair. He’d object to the demon’s treatment if he wasn’t so sure he was intent to take Newt under his wing.

“You’ve made yourselves quite a home here.” He said to Anathema when she joined him at the table again. “I’m so happy to see it.”

The young lady blushed prettily, her gaze drifting over to where Crowley was giving out a what for about the state of the rose bushes — though whether that lecture was directed towards Newt or the roses themselves, Aziraphale wasn’t sure.

“It’s been fun.” She responded, picking up her own cup. Coffee, of course. “Just being able to do whatever we like. Picking out colors and mismatching sets of things without someone telling me I shouldn’t or that if I don’t someone’s dog is going to get run over.”

Aziraphale sputtered, alarmed. “Oh, I should hope not!”

Anathema shrugged. “Maybe not literally. It was just kind of how things felt at times. Here’s your whole life planned out for you, enjoy your lack of choices. I didn’t realize how exhausting it was trying to live up to a ghost until I was free of it.”

“Ah, well.” He agreed, settling his tea in its saucer. “I certainly can understand that feeling.” His smile came sympathetic. “You live under the expectations of others for so long you aren’t quite sure what to do with that freedom once you’ve acquired it.”

Anathema looked as though she was going to respond, but a frustrated hissing noise drew their attention back to the garden.

“Oh for—I said a 45-degree angle, you knob! Come on now!”

“S-sorry Mr. Crowley—“ Newt sputtered, leaning in to pay close attention to what Crowley was doing with the cutters.

Crowley sighed, relenting. “Just Crowley, mate. Now look, you want to remove anything that’s pencil-thin or rubbing around the wrong way. It’s gonna cause disease—“

Aziraphale’s grin widened and he turned his head to watch Crowley’s tough-love infused arboriculture lesson. It warmed his heart to see Crowley down in the dirt with Newt, showing as much patience as was possible for the demon while instructing the young man on something as simple as rose care. His suave air long forgotten in light of an interested student.

A huff of laughter came from his right and Aziraphale remembered with a flush that he had been rudely ignoring his current companion.

“Forgive me for my distraction, dear.” He said.

Anathema waved his apology away. “Don’t worry about it. It’s nice to see Newt get on with someone other than Shadwell. He’s tougher than he looks, and I have a feeling Crowley is a bit softer.” She winked at him, the rounds of her glasses shining.

Aziraphale’s lips twitched and he leaned closer to her, his expression conspiratorial. This was another thing they had taken to doing; sharing. 

“He took me to the theatre last night.”

Anathema leaned in, matching his grin with a glint in her eyes. “Do tell, Mr. Fell.”

“And arranged a picnic afterward in the gardens at twilight.” Aziraphale sighed, the memory flushing his cheeks. “It was perfect.”

Mouth twisting in surprise, Anathema raised her eyebrows. “You’re telling me that one,” she gestures with a tilt of her head to Crowley who was currently muttering obscenities to her azaleas, “planned a romantic picnic under the stars and didn’t try to set it all on fire before you actually showed up?”

Aziraphale inclined his head, humming in agreement. “That does sound like something he would do. It's true he does get rather...nervous at times.” He cast another glance at Crowley's back as he leaned back with his hands on his hips to watch Newton work with a keen eye, his jacket forgotten on the chair next to him and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Lord, but he was fetching in the sunlight. "But this, well, this was like a dream."

She whistled low at the far-off look in his eyes, leaning back with a small huff. “I’m impressed.”

“Oh, my dear, so was I.” Aziraphale chuckled, fingers closing around his cup as he shot a fond look at Crowley’s turned back. “I had never—well, I never really dared to imagine what things could be like. Before.”

“Oh, I think we both know you imagined quite a bit.” Her eyes sparkled, and Aziraphale cleared his throat to distract from the burning in his cheeks. He willed away the worst of it for proprieties’ sake. Anathema patted his hand, squeezing once and gifting him with a sincere smile. “I noticed something different about your auras lately. You’re closer, somehow. I didn't think that was entirely possible, considering I almost couldn't tell them apart in the first place. But you're more...settled. Like you aren’t fighting it anymore.”

Aziraphale inclined his head in agreement because wasn’t that just the way of it? Their relationship hadn’t changed so much as started shifting into exactly what it had always meant to be. They had spent so much time denying their connection to themselves and each other for the sake of those who _may_ have been listening, but once that veil had been lifted it felt all the more like coming home.

“So,” Anathema’s voice pitched low and sly. “Have you kissed him yet?"

The angel blinked once, twice.

Now, just because Aziraphale had realized he was completely and stupidly in love with Crowley, that didn't necessarily mean he had thought everything through, you understand.

Had the angel been anything else but an Angel, he would have choked on the tea that was currently attempting to scald down his throat. He coughed twice before bringing his hand up to his neck and dispelling the itching discomfort, shooting the woman a rather undignified glare as he did so.

“Anathema! Honestly!”

“What? 6,000 years! Can’t blame a girl for being curious!”

“I most certainly can if it ends up discorporating me!” He shot back, attempting to keep his lips thin with disapproval but failing in light of her delighted giggles. So full of life, these young humans. Even when they were causing mischief there was such a joy, there.

“Alright there, angel?” Crowley called out, his voice an odd mix of concerned and amused. He had surely noticed Aziraphale’s little scene. Wonderful.

“Tickety-boo, dearest.” Aziraphale rushed, nudging Anathema’s foot when she dissolved into laughter once more. He narrowed his eyes at her and she straightened, lips twitching.

“Right then,” Crowley’s brow raised, suspicious. “If you say so.”

“Tickety...boo?” He heard Newton ask the demon.

“You don’t wanna know.”

Once their two, er, partners (Aziraphale had absolutely no idea what to call them as of yet) were sufficiently engrossed again, Aziraphale reached over with the tip of his index finger and discreetly sent Anathema a shock through her entirely too thick dress sleeve. Not enough to _hurt,_ of course, but it was enough to make her jump a bit.

“Sorry!” She laughed again, rubbing her arm. “I’m sorry. That was invasive.”

“You’re forgiven.” He sniffed, playing haughty. “In the event that you share with me that positively scrumptious asapao recipe you made the last time we were in town.”

She pursed her lips. “I thought it was demons that asked for all your secrets.”

Aziraphale grinned.

The afternoon passed that way; slow, blissful, and full of good cheer. Crowley and Newt, and maybe just a small miracle or two, managed to get the garden looking rather presentable and if Aziraphale didn’t know better, he’d say the blooms had perked up quite a bit since the earlier hours. So lost were they all in their own conversations, that it wasn’t until the sky started to glow pink and orange that they noticed how much time had gone by.

Newt and Crowley emerged from the depths of the garden; one covered in dirt smears with a large, accomplished smile on his face and one in the same pristine condition he had come in with a vague expression of approval at a job well done.

“I’m off to shower then,” Newt said, leaning down to press a sloppy kiss to Anathema’s cheek. She didn’t mind the smear of dirt he left on her, and if she did, she couldn’t be arsed to say so. “Thank you again, Crowley. Honestly, if there is any way I can repay you?”

Crowley huffed, collapsing into the chair next to Aziraphale and leaning back until his head was touching the angel’s shoulder. “I’ll think of something.” His grin held teeth a bit sharper than absolutely necessary and Aziraphale shook his head at his antics. “We always do.”

A look of concern flashed over the lad’s face for a moment before he laughed it off and loped up the stairs to the cottage.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale warned.

“S’just a joke, angel.” Crowley muttered, nudging his head back until Aziraphale raised a hand to brush his fingers through the copper locks. “The witch doesn’t mind, do you?”

Anathema raised her hands. “Not getting in the middle of this one.” She said, leaning in to gather the cups and plates she and Aziraphale had acquired onto the tray.

“Oh please let me help you with that.” Aziraphale went to nudge Crowley off but Anathema stopped him.

“It’s fine! Don’t worry about it. I’ll be back in a bit.” The angel went to protest but she had already slipped gracefully into the back door, but not before turning to waggle her eyebrows at Aziraphale in such a way that had him snort out a laugh in a rather undignified manner. Well, he had a cuddly demon to contend with anyway if he was being fair.

Catching said demon’s eyes upside down was a bit of a feat, but he managed it anyway with a small smile. “That was nice of you.”

Crowley flushed, nudging his glasses further up his nose as though it would hide it. “Tell the whole world why don’t you?” He grumbled, crossing his arms. Still, he leaned back far enough that the chair tipped, putting his entire weight into Aziraphale’s side.

“You say that as if people don’t already know, dear.”

The sound that left Crowley’s mouth was more of a guffaw than a laugh, but it warmed the angel all the same. “Sassy today I see. Seems all you needed was a bit of girl time and gossip.”

“It has been a rather pleasant day hasn’t it?” Aziraphale brushed his fingers along Crowley’s crown, scratching down lightly into the rest of his hair. Crowley hummed at the touch, a content noise that he tried to turn into something more lyrical when he realized he’d done so. “I enjoy visiting with them. Anathema is lovely, and I _know_ you like Newton.”

“I _tolerate _the Newt. Bit of a twitchy mite, if I say so myself. His name certainly fits.” Aziraphale swatted at him. 

“_Not to mention_, Anathema gave me the most extraordinary idea when we were discussing their trip to Puerto Rico to visit her family.” Aziraphale said, tugging lightly at a piece of hair at the jab. Crowley grunted at him.

“Oh?” The demon asked, intrigued and maybe just making a bit of fun. “Well let’s hear it then, angel. What _extraordinary _idea did the young lady give you?”

“How would you feel about a holiday?” His fingers continued their ministrations when Crowley froze, but he was forced to remove his hand when Crowley sat the chair back on all fours and turned to look at him.

“Ngk.”

“Crowley?”

“H—Holiday? Y-you mean us? Together? Beaches and tourists and sweaty bus rides with strangers?” He asked, incredulous as though Aziraphale had just asked him to repent on the steps of St. Peter himself. Well, that had certainly not been the reaction he was expecting.

A little furl of disappointment tried crowding its way around his throat, but the angel did roll his eyes. “Of course together, Crowley, don’t be obtuse. I had rather thought it would be nice to go somewhere we wanted to go that didn’t have to do with well—_work._” He fiddled with the sleeve of his jacket, an odd nervous gesture he must have picked up somewhere. “Of course if you aren’t amenable, dear, it was only an idea.”

Aziraphale was looking down at his sleeve, not noticing much outside of Crowley’s silence until black-polished fingers slid over his own to make the fidgeting stop. When he blinked up into the demon’s face he was smiling.

“I didn’t say that,” Crowley said gently, lifting Aziraphale’s hand to brush the lightest of a kiss against his knuckles. Aziraphale’s earlier, uglier mix of emotions immediately gave way to rapture at the feel of those lips against his skin. “We can leave tomorrow if you like.”

Aziraphale gathered the where-with-all to rub his thumb against the sharp of the demon’s cheekbone, marveling at the way he immediately leaned into it. It was funny how those old insecurities could creep up on you, even in the midst of something so pure, something so perfect as the way Crowley was smiling at him now. So ready to indulge him, as always, even before he had asked where Aziraphale had in mind for this impulsive sproutling of an idea. Aziraphale felt his very Grace pulse and glow. 

“Maybe something with a beach?” Aziraphale asked, lighting up when Crowley’s hand came up to cover his own on his cheek.

“Perfect.” Crowley’s soft smile turned sly. “Does this mean you’ll get a bathing suit from this century, angel?”

“_Absolutely not._”


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what happens when I make promises to people on the internet? 
> 
> I immediately get too sick to fulfill them. -_- 
> 
> So sorry about the lateness! Though, if it makes you feel better. The "honeymoon" is now going to be two chapters. :D
> 
> Enjoy!

Choosing a destination when one could go, quite literally, anywhere they pleased made things both simpler and more difficult in their own way. Crowley, as was his wont, suggested somewhere warm, or tropical. Where he could stretch out in the sun and bask for as many hours as he liked without worrying about wayward children kicking sand in his face while he did so.

Aziraphale had had a mind to head North, maybe Iceland or Alaska. Places he had never had to spend too much time in but _oh_ he had heard the Aurora Borealis were truly wonders to behold. As it was, Crowley vetoed that idea fairly quickly. They may not necessarily be affected by the cold if they didn’t wish to be but something about taking a serpent too close to the north pole had made Crowley a little twitchy.

Really, it didn’t much matter where they went. The idea that they were going for pleasure, to simply spend time together like, well — _humans did _was a novelty in and of itself.

After a few days of lazily surfing through the internet (Crowley) and taking to asking people where they thought would be best (Aziraphale), they decided on Greece. Culture, music, food, and sunlight could be found in many different countries in the world but it had been many a century since either of their exploits had taken them to that area and they were rather curious to find out how much it had changed in the last hundred years or so.

Crowley had shown him the beach villa he’d chosen and Aziraphale’s heart gave a happy tug at the thought of curling up next to a warm, sleepy demon with the smell of fresh olive trees melding with the sea. Dredges of waning sunlight sinking beneath the horizon and casting Crowley in an effervescent glow of orange and red and pink...

That had been that, really.

It was early June now, and the weather was nothing short of perfection. He and Crowley had avoided flying in those giant metal contraptions the humans called airplanes, instead choosing to wisk themselves away with a miracle to Athens where Aziraphale had been too charmed by the thought of the ferry to continue the journey the cheat way.

Aziraphale’s nose had almost cost them that option though when the intoxicating scent of fresh pastries overwhelmed his senses and he began walking down the cobbled street as a man possessed. Crowley had gently led him back to the pier with a fond smirk and the promise to miracle him up some of the pastries if Aziraphale liked.

“No, no. That won’t be necessary. We can always come back for them.” Aziraphale’s face had reddened at being caught lusting over baked goods but the demon had simply pressed their shoulders together on the ferry and smiled at him while Aziraphale’s heart stuttered.

“’ Course, angel. We’ve got all the time in the world.”

* * *

When they arrived in Paros, a town of white atop the crystal clear blue of the sea, Aziraphale marveled as though he had never borne witness to it before. It had been quite a few centuries since he’d had the pleasure of experiencing this part of the world, so while some sights and sounds were familiar, others were new and exciting.

He drank in the way the sun cascaded over the sea, the gentle sway of it against the rocks as he and Crowley walked up the marble steps to their rental home. Paros was known for its marble, of course, but the architecture here had always been something to be wondered at. Humans truly were so innovative, so incredibly versatile in their expression; to think of taking a hunk of rock and toiling away at it to create art and pottery and homes. They formed masterpieces from clay, much akin to the way the Almighty had done the very same with Adam. Truly, they were created in Her image.

Aziraphale made a promise to himself that he would travel more — that they _both _would. It simply wouldn’t do to keep missing out on the ever-evolving world they had chosen when there was something new and startlingly beautiful around each and every bend.

“Home sweet home, angel.” Crowley said as they swept into the delicately arched entryway. The walls were white, balanced with various types of darker inlaid stones that seemed both deliberate and not, giving the blankness of the coloring a pleasing break that drew the eye. The furniture was charmingly rustic in a way that Aziraphale knew Crowley wouldn’t have chosen for himself, while the polished concrete countertops and fashionable appliances gave an oddly pleasant combination of new and old.

Crowley fidgeted a bit at his silence, casting Aziraphale looks from the corner of his eye. Aziraphale couldn’t see his eyes, of course, but he knew well that the demon was worried about what he thought. Again he seemed nervous as he had the night of the picnic, as though Aziraphale would find the whole display, find Crowley, lacking somehow. _Oh, dear heart._ Aziraphale didn’t say. _I hope one day I can show you how that would never be the case._

He turned to his companion with a genuine, bright grin. “Crowley it’s absolutely lovely! It’s been ages since I’ve been able to see the ocean so clear.” He sighed, throwing open the darling wooden shutters and taking a large, indulgent breath of salt-filled air.

Crowley set their bags down with a huff, his earlier nervousness swept away at the sight of Aziraphale’s smile, probably deciding the carrying thing was enough of that for today as he snapped his fingers and made them disappear.

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at him and Crowley groaned. “Oh, don’t gimme that look. I didn’t miracle our stuff away to the ether, I just sent them to our room.”

The angel froze. His mind a litany of nonsense: Our room? Our _room_. _Our_ room. _Oh dear. _He was quite certain he hadn’t had to fight off the stubborn flush of his cheeks quite as much as he has since the Apocalypse. Since he and Crowley had gone from short meetings between long periods of time to never quite leaving the others space.

It occurred to Aziraphale now that what they were doing was remarkably similar to what humans would call a “honeymoon”, and as such there really was no need for him to well, _panic._ He was very aware of where this was going. They both were.

At least, Aziraphale surely hoped he hadn’t jumped to assumptions after the night at the park.

Though there had been no nuptials exchanged, nor well, much of anything more physical than leaning into each other's space and light touches here and there. They weren’t creatures of human custom, they didn’t require touch as humans seemed to and yet it had slowly been making its way into their routine, becoming something Aziraphale found he craved regardless. Forming within their new shared experience with a slowness that may have overwhelmed a human with its glacier pace, but to Aziraphale just made it seem more sweet and natural as it fell into place.

Sharing a bedroom was Crowley’s way of taking a step towards him, and Aziraphale found that he was very much receptive to that happening.

“Of course. I hadn’t assumed anything other.” Aziraphale smiled again, this one a bit shy. Catching the way the demon’s own cheeks seemed to redden enough to draw attention to the smattering of freckles there. Aziraphale loved them.

“Well, we’re here,” Crowley said, putting his hands in his pockets then out again as he tried to look nonchalant. “And I imagine you’ve some idea where you’re wanting to start.” He smirked at Aziraphale knowingly.

Aziraphale whirled from the window, face alight as he stepped into Crowley’s space. The demon went a bit slack-jawed when he took his hands and squeezed.

“Oh, the choices! Ah, let’s see.” Aziraphale thought quickly, mind racing through the ancient library that was his memory. “We should do lunch, first, I’d think. But then, how do you feel about visiting the monasteries?”

Crowley came back to himself to grace the angel with a pointed purse of his lips, scoffing. “Meteora? Angel, you know I can’t step foot in the bloody monastery.”

“I know, dearest.” He chuckled, letting go of one hand to lead Crowley to the door. As he stood in the entrance, he looked back over his shoulder to the puzzled demon. “So what do you say to a fly?”

“In broad daylight? Are we up for scaring the tourists then?”

“If you must.” Aziraphale shrugged, feeling bold and silly at the thought of spreading their wings to fly together under the warm sunlight.

Crowley smiled at him, slow and wicked but when he let his glasses slide down the bridge of his nose his ochre eyes were fond. “Alright. You’ve tempted me.”

"Oh, _hush._"

* * *

Had he really managed, all this time, to live without the wind on his face?

Aziraphale stretched mid-air, spreading his wings as far as he could reach, twisting himself into a shallow dive only to snap them open once more. The burn and stretch of his grace’s form almost sighing audibly as his body truly relaxed for the first time in ages.

He lazed under a simple glamour, blending into the breathtaking scenery as he flew. The cliffs that held the remnants of the monasteries themselves were a canvas of marbled black and white stone. The passage of time had smoothed the rock, allowed the locals to carve steps into its side to better access the buildings sitting defiantly on top. Aziraphale remembered well the quiet, humble folk who had once occupied this place fondly. Their devotion to their Gods, whether they had been one carrying Her name or not, had been an inspiration to him all the same.

There was peace here, in the gales above the valley; the whistling winds that whispered lovingly against his hair as he let himself glide. There weren’t many times in recent memory that he could dredge up that felt quite as good as the freedom of flying with ones own wings.

Of course, all good things come to an end and for Aziraphale it was the shattering of his pleasant introspection by way of a flash of black careening passed where he hovered, a loud cackle following in its wake before its bearer decided to right himself and fly upwards to meet him.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale tutted when the demon was within arms reach. “Are you quite finished?”

"Sh-Sh! Hold on, angel. Wait—"

Crowley’s chuckles slowed for a moment, just long enough for him to grasp Aziraphale’s arm before a slew angry noises floated down from the tour group who had been taking pictures from above them and the demon’s laughter doubled back until he looked like he was aching with it.

“That damned bird made me drop my phone!” Someone cried out, incredulous. “I just got it before we came!”

“I told you to not have it so close to the edge, Max!"

Aziraphale sighed. “Crowley, _really._”

“You should have seen his face!” Crowley cackled, the utter delight of his actions breaking through Aziraphale’s stern expression. He wasn’t sure why he tried, he never could keep it up when Crowley was happy. Or rather, when he was existing in the same space as Aziraphale.

His nose wrinkled, torn. “I don’t much care for the things myself, but I’m sure that the device was rather expensive.”

Crowley waved him away, chin coming up to rest on Aziraphale’s shoulder while his warm hands fit themselves on his sides. Aziraphale froze, then melded into the touch helplessly. “His wife will be getting a call from the phone company claiming a defect and he’ll get a new bloody phone when they head on back to good old New Mexico, don’t fret. Stupid sod was spending more time on the thing than he was with her, anyway.”

The demon muttered the last part, sniffing as though it was of no consequence but Aziraphale smiled privately to himself all the same.

“I didn’t take you for such a _romantic._”

Aziraphale could feel the demon’s frown, a sly smile of his own twitching at the corners of his lips.

“I—I didn't. That's not—Oi, now wait a minute!“ Crowley started to protest, but Aziraphale was dropping out from his hold before he could finish. He let himself go at a dead drop before whisking down in a circle and heading off into the mouth of the valley, looking over his shoulder with a raise of his eyebrows and a challenge on his lips.

Crowley sputtered, cursed, then let out a bewildered guffaw of sound before the glorious jet-black of his wings were in motion, giving chase to Aziraphale who could do nothing more with the happiness brimming from every cell of him than laugh and laugh and laugh.

They chased and dodged around each other like children, like beings suddenly made new again without the weight of all existence on their shoulders. Aziraphale had never known laughter like this, had never known joy to be the sunlight on his skin and the press of Crowley's love like a physical thing on the time-worn edgings of his soul.

And when the demon caught him, for Aziraphale always knew he would, pressing him into a bed of grass and staring down at him with his chest heaving unneeded breaths, Aziraphale felt a settling deep in his core, a piece clicking into place. He lifted his hands into Crowley's hair, which sun had set aflame, the brilliant snake eyes that were wide and real and without barrier; it was then the angel knew that he had no choice but to lean up and steal that beautiful, awestruck smile from Crowley's lips himself. 


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small series of moments. Kisses, questions, overdue confessions. 
> 
> and a little bit of Hozier. 
> 
> Sorry about the wait, dearies. Hopefully, the long chapter makes up for it.

The days passed slow and full of love.

Long ago, Azirpaphale had thought demons incapable of love. Crowley had proved him wrong time and time again across the centuries; showing thoughtfulness and care for him and others that Aziraphale had never experienced in Heaven since the moment She had given him his name.

Crowley was so _good_ at shattering Aziraphale’s perception of things he thought he knew quite well. In Heaven, the facts were thus: The Fallen were evil. The Fallen were corrupt, devoid of the Almighty’s grace. Their existence was purely to be the antithesis of God’s will, to defy and betray at every turn. They did not feel joy, or empathy, or love.

Yet since the very moment Aziraphale had known Crowley, there had been something in him. Not just a spark of goodness, but a flame. One that he carried like a bright beacon on the walls of his heart; blazing and impossible to ignore. Aziraphale had been drawn to it immediately, something in him calling out for the warmth in his smile and that still so innocent desperation to _know_.

As kind as Crowley was to him, it was the children that had always been the ones to break down the demon’s armor. Where he and Crowley put on airs for the world, their superiors, and often each other; one of Crowley’s defining characteristics was his utter weakness in the face of a child in need. The situation with the Ark had hurt Aziraphale deeply, but it had rendered Crowley inconsolable for years. And when Aziraphale had wandered down into the depths of the Ark to find a large group of children hidden and warm in the coils of a giant snake, he knew then that something in him was irrevocably changed. Crowley had looked at him with such fear, and yet such a determined protectiveness for his charges that Aziraphale, for the first time in his creation, questioned God’s decision. Had the Almighty made a mistake when She cast him out? Surely Crowley, with his kind heart and adoration for the little lights of the world could not have deserved such a fate.

Crowley had changed after the Great Flood. He grew colder, held his heart closer to his chest and while Aziraphale mourned the loss of those easy smiles, he could not say that he didn’t understand. Through the years they shared dinners and drinks and jokes and countless, silent looks that had always felt full of a meaning neither dared to look at too closely — but they rarely touched. It would have been terribly inappropriate after all, but more than that it would have been too much of a...temptation.

Now, despite everything, they were here, walking through the busy throng that was the streets of new Athens. Aziraphale held a small tray of lokma, humming happily at the sticky sweet dough that was currently melting in his mouth, and when he offered a bite to Crowley the demon leaned over and distractedly took his morsel straight from Aziraphale’s trembling fingers.

“Oh, please, as though I would have been caught dead participating in a _horse race _of all things.” Aziraphale managed around the tightness in his throat.

Crowley cast him a side-long glance. “When I asked you to help cover me in the Isle of Skye, you claimed you were participating in the Olympics.”

“I never said I was _participating. _I owed Koroibos a favor._”_

“Of course you’d manage to owe a bloody human a favor.” Crowley sighed. “Though he was a cook, so I can imagine _why._” His eyebrows drew down in the mimic of displeasure. “I cannot believe you lied to me.”

“I didn’t _lie_, Crowley. It was simply an—omission.” Aziraphale huffed, enjoying the flush of his skin when Crowley’s arm slid across the line of his shoulders to pull him close as he laughed. Ever since their kiss in the fields, Crowley had become rather _unleashed _in terms of physical affection. Aziraphale had barely gone more than a few moments without the feel of Crowley’s hands on him in some way; a soothing caress through the hair at his temples, the warmth and security of long fingers wrapping around his own, and _kisses_. So many kisses Aziraphale felt drunk with the sheer magnitude of just how much Crowley felt for him. He was becoming frightfully addicted to the sensation. “And you didn’t actually need my help in Scotland, you just wanted to trick me into trading you out so you wouldn’t have to deal with the rain.”

Crowley shrugged, a sly grin showing the points of his teeth. “Well now, that’s neither here nor there, is it? We're talking about _you_ and your_ lying—_”

Aziraphale swatted him in the stomach and Crowley laughed again, squeezing him closer and pressing a kiss to the side of his face. He grinned as Crowley led them through the streets to the docks that would take them back to Paros, his other hand carrying a bag that had been compelled to hold everything they would need for their trip to the beach; including an umbrella that really had no business fitting into a satchel until Crowley had glared at it hard enough.

He held out another piece of lokma to stop the slew of words currently pouring out of his companion, not bothering to wait to ask if Crowley wanted more and chuckling when the demon sputtered but opened his mouth anyway. Aziraphale felt his smile lift the apples of his cheeks and Crowley pursed his lips around his own smile as he chewed. Aziraphale leaned his head against Crowley’s shoulder, feeling his chuckles seep into his skin.

Yes, he was quite happy with this new development.

* * *

There were times Aziraphale forgot that Crowley was technically a demon, a creature of sin and temptation. Meant to whisper and question and lead humanity to dip their toes into the deepest pits of their own desires.

And then there were moments like this:

Aziraphale was reclined back in his chair, the delicate skin of his corporation shaded by a large blue umbrella and a book in his hands that he was only half reading, as the only distraction on their private portion of beach was also the only distraction that held any hope of tearing him away from it at all.

Crowley emerged from the sea with all the grace of his serpentine form. Lithe movements and sinewy muscles that seemed so much at home in the roiling cascades of the sea. The water swirled around him as if compelled to touch as much of his freckled skin as possible, and Aziraphale could understand the desire all too well. His glasses were off, laying on the blanket next to Aziraphale, and when Crowley lifted his arms to swipe his short hair back from the eyes that were now firmly trained on him, the angel only vaguely felt the book slip from his fingers and into his lap.

Not a year ago Aziraphale would have averted his gaze, sputtering out an excuse and maybe even finding a tactful way to remove himself from the situation. It was with a bit of a thrill that he remembered that he didn’t have to do that anymore; that Crowley would receive him if he just so much as asked.

Crowley was smirking at him, _the wily devil_, as he made his way back to their blanket. Aziraphale had the vague and rather embarrassing thought that if he could sense Love….was it possible that demons sensed, well, it’s counterpart?

A flash of embarrassed panic overtook him. Oh, that would be _frightful._

“Enjoying the view, angel?” Crowley purred, a mischevious glint in his eye as he dropped to his knees. He stalked towards Aziraphale on his hands, slow, predatory movements that made him swallow audibly. Aziraphale sputtered, feeling his face grow so hot he feared he’d burn right through.

“O-of course I—well, you see— Oh, Crowley don’t _tease_.” He groaned finally, hiding his face in his hands. He felt the demon damn near slither into his lap, hands planted on either side of Aziraphale’s hips, but when he finally managed to peak from behind his hands the lascivious look was gone. Replaced by soft star-light eyes and the little scrunch of Crowley’s nose as he smiled fondly. The angel found his breath stolen in an entirely different way.

“You can, you know,” Crowley whispered, their faces close. “Look. At me. I mean.”

“I know.” He said, letting his hands fall with a little huff. “It just—all takes some getting used to doesn’t it?’

“I dunno. You’d think this would be easier for you.” Crowley mused. “Always, you were holding back even the slightest touch. Now you can touch all you want and you’re acting like the Almighty Herself is going to come down and slap your hands away.”

“She still might.”

Crowley smirked. “Or maybe you enjoyed the “look but don’t touch.” he breathed against the angel’s lips. “Getting just close enough to want it but always just far enough away to deny yourself. The game of it. The cat and mouse. Is that what you’re into, angel?”

Crowley made to lean forward and Aziraphale brought his hand up to smash un-delicately into the demon’s face, drawing a laugh out of him and hopefully distracting from the way his heart was hammering in his chest.

“I can’t tell if you’re trying to tempt me or if this is just how you are now.”

A kiss pressed to his palm, Crowley’s eyes crinkling at the corners. “Fun is for you to find out, isn’t it?”

“You’re insufferable.” Aziraphale sighed, but he drew Crowley into his lap anyway. The demon hummed, curling into Aziraphale’s warmth and wrapping his arms around him. He ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair, adjusting the shade of the umbrella with a thought so that the sunlight cascaded along the serpent’s back. Even when Crowley’s breathes started to even out, Aziraphale didn’t bother picking up his book.

But Crowley’s words gave him pause, and Aziraphale found himself looking into the sky and wondering: Was it that She was no longer there?

Or...was it simply that She didn’t care anymore?

He shook his head to clear it, instead opting to pull Crowley closer and drown out the noise in his head with the sounds of the sea and a snoring snake. 

* * *

Aziraphale managed to bat away the rather irritating wriggling of questions in his mind by distracting himself and Crowley with whatever came to mind first. Once Crowley had napped, they explored great museums and tiny villages. Dined in Thessaloniki, marveled at the Epidaurus theatre, and managed to have quite a memorable encounter with an old Greek shop owner who’d fallen under Crowley’s natural demonic magnetism only to declare him a descendent of Aphrodite herself in front of, well, everyone.

Crowley was really only a fan of attention when he was in charge of it, you see.

Eventually, as all days must, the sky began to darken and the two of them found refuge back in Athens. Aziraphale was not about to visit the area without losing himself to the National Library at least once, or thrice.

The sky dimmed, but the city did not. Aziraphale and Crowley sat together on the highest building they could find that didn’t have religious connotations, shoulders brushing and wings unfurled behind them. Aziraphale could not recall a time since Heaven that he had had them out so often and for so long. Old aches that he hadn’t realized he’d acquired unfurled with each movement. The appendages dipped lazily in the wind, a silent dance; Aziraphale's right and Crowley's left intertwined together on the marble, a far more intimate touch than even the kisses they'd shared by celestial terms. Aziraphale felt peace, truly, at that moment. Yet he couldn’t quite bring himself to let go of the thought that continued to plague his mind in its quiet moments.

Leave it to him to fuss when the scenery was so incredibly breathtaking. All of Athens lit up like glorious starlight in the night, sleek domes and old temples peeking out from within the ancient city born anew. Aziraphale had spent many nights like this, simply marveling at the world. But it had never been _quite_ like this. Never had it been with someone. Someone who truly understood what it meant to watch time forge its ceaseless trek upon the earth and its inhabitants while you remained unchanged. Distant.

Never had it been with Crowley.

"To think we might have missed all this," Crowley spoke, startling Aziraphale as his eyes lifted from the brightening city to the stars above for just a moment.

A knot tightened in Aziraphale's stomach as he watched the wistfulness on his companion's face. To think, indeed, that they might have missed this. Missed these simple moments together, where before they had all been fraught with an undercurrent of fear. Always looking over their shoulders; never letting themselves smile too wide or touch too often.

Worse, to think that this time with Crowley wasn't meant to be. What if all they had done was buy time? What if each spark of laughter, each blissful caress were simply the tokens time stolen from their inevitable ends?

_Why_ was it that every time he began to feel comfortable with their newfound closeness, his mind tried so desperately to shake him loose of it?

He flinched at the thought, not looking at Crowley when he realized he had felt it happen. He saw the demon's concerned glance on the side of his face, saw the question there in those serpent eyes and forced himself to muster up the words.

"Crowley...do you think they'll come for us?"

Crowley was silent next to him, went still against Aziraphale's slight tremor. When the angel finally brought himself to look at him though, he saw that Crowley's face wasn't worried; but contemplative.

"No." He breathed after a moment. "No, I don't think so, angel."

"How can you be sure?"

Crowley turned to look at him again and this time he caught Aziraphale's gaze in his own. A smile, something small, and soft and rare tilted the edges of his lips.

"You think She would have left us as we were? An angel and a demon, defying the deciding forces of all that is and ever will be? And it was as easy possessing each other's corporations? Nah."

He tilted his head back up to the sky, brow furrowing as though he was looking at a puzzle he couldn't quite see clearly yet. "We shouldn’t have been able to do that. It wasn’t until after that I really thought it all through. A body is a body, but that one had been yours and this one mine for far longer than most beings can claim. I can't step into churches for them being so Godly, yet I could wear your body without consequence. I think...I think in this, She must have been on our side."

Aziraphale sat back, shock overtaking his features. By all accounts, Crowley was correct. His vessel was Heavenly in nature, imbued with Holy light and Aziraphale’s own essence. This body _was _his in every sense that mattered and it should have burned Crowley’s demonic soul right up the moment they’d connected.

The only being in all of creation that could have had a hand in that was...well…

“God,” Aziraphale whispered. "On our side."

“Yeah,” Crowley said, then shrugged. “Or, I mean, the flying spaghetti monster. Whichever suits your fancy, really.” He grinned when Aziraphale laughed. “Listen. We’re gonna be okay, angel. Whatever happens.”

Aziraphale’s chuckles stalled, but a small smile tilted the corners of his mouth. Crowley was a vision in the night; the red of his hair, the pallor of his skin, the yellow of his eyes. All alight with something Aziraphale had never quite been able to place. A beauty so far outside the realm of physicality words could never properly describe. How foolish of him to have not realized for so long that Crowley was not a creature of darkness — but a creature of the stars.

“I believe you,” Aziraphale said, reaching over to slide his hand over the demons. It was his turn to surprise Crowley, it seemed, for he looked up into Aziraphale’s face and then to the side, biting down on something that looked suspiciously like a smile. “I think, more than anything else, I believe _in_ you.” He paused, fingers tightening over his love’s hand, sliding into the spaces Crowley’s left open for him. “I suppose that makes me quite a terrible angel." He mused, then smiled. "Funny enough, I find I don't care. ”

Crowley leaned towards him, the huff of amusement brushing against Aziraphale’s hair. “In my personal, oh so very _correct _opinion...I think that makes you the best kind.”

* * *

Aziraphale brushed away the fringe of hair falling over Crowley’s closed eyes as the demon slept, tracing over the snake mark that was so very dear to him now. He enjoyed the way Crowley muttered and shifted closer to him in sleep. The rush of affection that overtook the angel that could be nothing but divine in nature.

He’d read about humans and their fascination with watching their lovers sleep. The slew of emotions such an act produced almost unfathomable to the angel, no matter how many books he read on the subject. Truthfully, he hadn’t understood it at all. What could possibly be so interesting about watching someone waste hours of their precious life away?

Crowley’s hair slid like silk from his fingers and the demon’s lips quirked upward sweetly, a soft noise slipping passed his slightly open mouth.

Aziraphale believed he understood quite well now. Tilting close, he breathed into his companion’s ear. “Don’t worry when you wake, my dear. I’ll return soon.”

A noise that could have been a snore or an agreement came from Crowley as he shifted once again to bury his face in the pillow Aziraphale had only partially used the night before. He smiled, leaving the whisper of a kiss against Crowley’s crown and breathing in the scent of woodsmoke and the demon’s cologne before vanishing himself out of the room.

He appeared in a conveniently empty side street, making his way out into the bustle of the morning market. Smiling at the passerby, Aziraphale sighed happily at the scent of the morning and the steadily growing warmth of the sun on his face. For all that he was a bit of an introvert, there was something comforting about losing yourself to anonymity. He wandered around, ambling slowly towards his destination and by the time he reached the bakery he’d been eyeing when they’d first arrived, it was with a contented hum and a skip in his step.

The baker was a kindly old woman with gorgeous olive skin, her wrinkles only heightening the beauty of her smile and the sparkle of wit in her dark eyes. Aziraphale chatted with her for a moment before buying a healthy box full of pastries that he was absolutely going to make sure Crowley at least attempted to try with him. She laughed when he explained that his companion did not really have a sweet tooth.

“Your husband has not lived until he has tried my _Portokalopita_.” She grinned at him, offering the beautifully aromatic cake to Aziraphale. “Let him say he does not like sweets then.”

“I will be sure he gives it the proper attention it deserves, miss.” He smiled back, charmed.

It was creeping into mid-morning when Aziraphale arrived back at the beach house carrying his delicacies. They remained perfectly warm and fluffy despite the long trek, of course. Crowley would be awake by now, surely. He hoped the demon was in the mood to actually eat today.

When he came upon the door, Aziraphale tilted his head curiously at an unfamiliar sound. It was with a surprised blink that he realized it was music. Slowly, he pushed the door open; the sound drifting louder now from the kitchen. It was a rather eclectic sound, not something Aziraphale would have listened to for himself as it was certainly much more modern than he could account for. But there was a pleasant, happy thrum to the music that seemed to fit with the summer feel of their temporary home.

_You know it is twelve o'clock in Soho, baby_

_It's gin o'clock where I wake up, I don't know_

_I think about you though, everywhere I go_

_ And I've done everything and I've been_

_everywhere you know_

Aziraphale rounded the corner from the living area to the kitchen, hearing Crowley’s voice drifting in and out with the song. The sight had his heart leap into his throat.

Crowley was busying himself with a coffee machine, annoyed mutterings coming between lines of the song. Still, his hips swayed side to side with it despite his obvious irritation with the contraption. His hair was in disarray, looking as though he’d done nothing more than run his fingers through it. The long lines of his bare back leading down to the darling black satin sleep pants he was wearing, the peaks of his hip poking above the hem. He pursed his lips, narrowing his eyes at the machine before snapping his fingers. It immediately started to bubble and pour.

Victorious, he allowed himself a satisfied smile, lifting his voice to join in the chorus with a new sense of purpose. All loose limbs and warmth and happiness — Aziraphale felt the very moment his heart laid itself for the thousandth time at Crowley’s feet.

_I'm_ _ nobody_

_ I'd be appalled if I saw you ever try to be a saint_

_ I wouldn't fall for someone I thought couldn't misbehave_

_ But I want you to know that I've had no love like your love—_

He spun around once, and Aziraphale knew the noise he made was what drew the demon’s attention, but he couldn’t help the delighted giggle that burst passed his lips. Crowley stopped when he met his eyes, a burst of gorgeous pink simply erupting from the tips of his ears to the base of his neck. The music lowered in volume considerably of its own accord.

“A-angel.” Crowley squeaked. And oh, Aziraphale must remember to get him for that later. “I—er—well, you see—Good morning?” He slapped his hand over his eyes, but the rapid rush of red bled over his cheeks anyway. “I...thought you were going to be a bit longer.”

Aziraphale could feel the grin splitting his face, burning into the corners of his cheeks. He gently laid his parcels down on the small dining table, his chest barely able to contain the roaring from behind his rib cage. He had never had the pleasure of seeing Crowley in such a casual manner. Free, happy —_silly._ It did something to him. Shattered back the last vestiges of doubt that sat like bitter cobwebs around his soul.

Before he knew that his feet were moving, Aziraphale found himself with his hands full of Crowley’s face. The demon sputtered, flushing redder and his eyes blown out to full serpent. Aziraphale willed all of the joy in him out from the core of his rapidly beating heart and felt Crowley’s hands tremble when they came to rest against his own.

“I love you.” He said, proud and so very happy. How could he not in the face of this terribly beautiful, wondrous thing?

Crowley’s breath hitched and he clenched hard onto Aziraphale’s hands as the angel’s fingers swept away the tears that were gathering on the edges. “You—What?”

“I love you, my dear. So much. And I just realized that I had quite certainly failed to tell you.”

Aziraphale couldn’t blame the disbelief he saw there. He couldn’t blame the edge of fear in the demon’s face that this might not be real. Instead, he leaned in slowly, wiping away each new rapid change of expression with a tender kiss. The arch of his cheek, the sweep of his brow, the bridge of his nose, until finally, he reached the perfect curve of his mouth. He poured himself and all the feelings he’d been first too afraid, and then still too shy, to give in full. If Crowley wanted him, Aziraphale would give everything.

Crowley whined into his mouth, hands moving to fist into his hair and grip hard onto his waist. This kiss, this feeling, it was so much different than the others they had shared. This was them, unrestrained. He let Crowley grasp at him, move his hands and clench until it was almost painful because he knew that he had taken so very very long to get to this point and that Crowley had in turn been so very patient. He had said it first, had _wanted_ to say it first for so long and he would say it over and over again until Crowley could not fathom a world in which he did not.

When they parted, gasping into the air between them and foreheads pressed together, Aziraphale swore to himself and anyone who was listening that he would spend the rest of eternity proving that his heart beat only for the Serpent of Eden.

“I—“ Crowley swallowed, his voice tight and when those eyes opened again Aziraphale felt the world shift on its axis for all the affection he saw there. “I love you too. You know that. _You know.” _

“_Yes.” _Aziraphale sighed into Crowley’s mouth. “You are, without a doubt, the greatest blessing I could ever hope to receive.” His voice broke, emotion bungling up any sort of composure he attempted to keep. “_Thank you._”

Crowley kissed him like he couldn't help it. Aziraphale let him. Again and again and again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll still breathing? ;) 
> 
> Obviously "Nobody" belongs to Hozier. You guys were crazy if you didn't think I'd slip in a little of the Official(ish) Ineffable Husbands soundtrack into this piece. 
> 
> I have never written so much sap just because I can and honestly? Freeing.


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, if they didn't have friends now, their holiday would have probably lasted the next hundred years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry. NaNoWriMo took over my life and then the holidays appeared out of nowhere?? Like?  
Hopefully, this being really long and really fluffy helps?

Of all the things Aziraphale had seen, heard and experienced in his very long life, he would honestly have to say that this was becoming his favorite.

He sat reclined in a wooden swing bed that was covered with soft pillows. The smell of orange trees melding headily with the brine of the sea as the wind brought it to them. Their canopy was large and covered them well enough without entirely keeping the warmth away. Crowley was lying wrapped around Aziraphale’s middle once again, his phone hanging lazily from long fingers as he scrolled through whatever was holding his interest at the moment. Aziraphale trailed his own fingers down the smooth planes of the serpent’s back, sliding up behind his ear and along the line of his hair before descending again. Crowley hummed each time, a small thing in the back of his throat that he hardly seemed aware of. Aziraphale smiled.

They had traveled to four different villages that afternoon; and though they did not get tired physically, one would not find either of them complaining when they made their way back to the little sanctuary they’d made for themselves. It was both soothing and restorative to be this close to Crowley. His corporation and his mind found themselves releasing clenched muscles and stray thoughts with each brush of skin against skin. Fascinating, truly, the effects these bodies had on each other. That they, as infinite, ceaseless creatures of the ether still could find such essential comfort from the smallest of things.

Crowley’s phone vibrated against Aziraphale’s stomach, startling him out of his thoughts and Crowley sat up slightly just as the phone began to play its latest ring tune:

_I wanna taste love and pain, wanna feel pride and shame. I don’t wanna—_

“Witchling!” Crowley crowed, sitting up fully. “To what do I owe the—“

“_Anthony J Crowley!” _Anathema’s hiss could be heard well outside the confines of the speaker. “_Are you aware of what today is_?”

“Er.” Crowley faltered, looking at Aziraphale who’s eyebrows had risen upward at her blistering tone. “Sometime mid-August I’d say?”

“_It’s September 1__st__!_”

Aziraphale paled. That. That was not good. “Is it _really_?”

Crowley frowned. “Oi, what’s the big deal? So we’ve been gone a few months, that’s hardly cause for all the commotion, is it?”

“Crowley—“ Aziraphale began, but was cut off by Anathema’s sharp intake of breath. When she spoke again her voice was tight, the temper just barely being kept behind the wall of her clenched teeth.

“_And do you recall,”_ She began, threatening enough that Crowley’s hand tightened around the phone. His expression shifted, puzzling against what he’d forgotten but knowing right well that it was something he was going to regret forgetting in the first place. _“A certain event happening on 8__th__ September. A party. A special party, perhaps. With cake, and guests, and __**Newt and I getting married**__?!” _

Crowley’s spine straightened with such rigidity that for a moment Aziraphale worried if a serpent’s spine was actually supposed to do that.

_Oh,_ _shit! _he mouthed at Aziraphale who pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh.

_Damage control!_ He mouthed back with a frantic wave of his hand and Crowley’s mouth made a series of movements before finally settling on a sound.

“I didn’t forget.” Crowley lied through his teeth. Aziraphale nicked his shoulder with his book as he made to stand as that was most emphatically _not_ what he meant. The demon glared at him, flinging his long arm out blindly in an attempt to get him back. “I was just going to show up fashionably late, love. All the greats do it.”

“_As much as I’m happy for you both, and I am, truly__—__ I will __make discorporation very unpleasant for you if you miss my wedding! Crowley, we still have to finalize the set up for the reception and_—”

Crowley had wisely held the phone away from his ear before Anathema had gotten to the actual shouting. Aziraphale rested his head in his hands. They’d gotten so lost in the spirit of their holiday that they’d almost forgotten the _wedding_. The wedding that they were supposed to be lending a hand to right this very moment!

Leaning over, Aziraphale planted one of his hands near Crowley’s knee and grabbed gently on to the demon’s wrist with the other to draw the phone closer to him. “Anathema, darling, please don’t forget to breathe. We’ll be there in two shakes of lamb’s tail, don’t you fret. Bright and early tomorrow morning, you have my word.”

“_Aziraphale.”_ Anathema’s rage was rapidly simmering into something close to teary panic and Crowley looked ready to throw his phone into the ocean. _“Hurry, please. My mother will be here tomorrow and she’s bringing a—a __**hoard **__of people __with her! Where is everyone supposed to sleep? Where—” _

“Don’t you worry, my dear.” Aziraphale swiftly cut through the panic rising in her voice. “Crowley and I will be there to help you handle everything—”

After a few more moments of assuring the poor thing that she would in fact not be alone when her family showed up (she did so love them, but they could be a bit...overwhelming) Aziraphale impressed through the phone one small burst of soothing aura before saying his goodbyes and pressing the large red button that he’d learned after quite a few accidental attempts meant _Off_. With that, he whirled on Crowley.

“I cannot _believe _you let me forget what day it was!”

Crowley sputtered. “Me?! I don’t recall having a conversation that designated me date keeper!”

“Your phone has the time and date on it and you carry it everywhere. One would assume you’d be the one to keep track.”

“You know what they say about _assssuming_, angel.”

“Don’t be crude.” Aziraphale huffed, then softened as he thought about the pitch of Anathema’s voice. “Oh that poor girl, she is so nervous. I don’t believe she was even this out of sorts about the Apocalypse.”

“Bah. What’s there to be nervous about? She loves him, he loves her. Now they’re just gonna say it in front of a bunch of people and get presents and money for the bother.” Crowley shrugged, stretching lazily and scooting over to the edge of the swing bed to tuck his legs between Aziraphale’s. “Rather ingenious really, modern marriage. Wish I’d have thought of that.” He grinned when the angel tsk’d in disapproval.

“It’s not about _gifts_, Crowley. It’s about proclaiming their commitment to each other in front of their friends, their family—the _world_.” His mouth twisted in an attempt to maintain his hold of the conversation when the demon leaned in to wrap his long arms around Aziraphale’s waist. He knew from the wicked glint of Crowley’s teeth that he had failed entirely.

Crowley tilted his head, feigning thought. “They’ve things like Twitter and Instagram for that nowadays, you know. Seems a bit much to put on a whole show.”

“Oh, you’re impossible!” Aziraphale went to twist from Crowley’s hold, but the serpent only held tighter as he laughed. Aziraphale turned his head, lips pursed in what was indeed a hard scowl (no matter how loudly Crowley proclaimed it to be a pout), but Crowley just pulled him close and stared up at him with those large, moonlit snake eyes. Really, Aziraphale held only so much fortitude against the love of his existence.

“I’m joking, Aziraphale.” Crowley chuckled.

With a sigh far more put-upon sounding than he actually felt, he lifted his hands to grasp Crowley’s cheeks, taking in the way the flame of his hair looked against the crystal clear blue of the Greek ocean behind him. Committing it to memory as he leaned forward to place a kiss between the demon’s brow.

“It was lovely while it lasted.” He hummed against Crowley’s skin. “We’ll come back. Or go somewhere new.”

Aziraphale felt Crowley nod before pulling back and lifting himself to his feet. He crowded in close to Aziraphale and leaned down to kiss his mouth fleetingly. " 'Course we will. Plenty to see, yet. Now, let’s go before the witch decides to summon me instead.”

“Can she do that?” Aziraphale asked as they walked up the white stone path to the house. He grimaced. “I can’t imagine that’s very comfortable.”

Crowley’s face shifted through an entire ballet of expression. “I—Yeah I mean, I would say it isn’t, no.”

“Wait, you—_Really?_”

The serpent’s skin flushed just along the bridge of his nose. “Oh, look at all the packing we’ve to do. Come along now angel! As you said, can’t keep the poor girl waiting!” His voice rose enough that Aziraphale sputtered his laughter as he trailed after the demon that was dangerously close to running from him.

Aziraphale had it on good authority that Crowley never _packed_ anything in his entire life. The angel’s mouth twisted against his smile. “Oh I don’t think so. Tell me dear, who exactly was it that caught wind of your real name?”

“Nope!” Came Crowley’s strangled response from upstairs. “Not happening! Dunno why I even brought it up!”

Aziraphale’s laughter trailed up the stairs after him.

* * *

Exactly one week later, the angel was granted comeuppance for his teasing as he realized rather quickly just how _exhausting_ wedding planning was.

In the seven days since they’d returned home, Aziraphale and Crowley had seen only but the night hours of each other, which was harder than it should have been considering neither of them required sleep but there had simply been so much yet to _do._

Anathema was indeed a bit of a nervous wreck, and Crowley had a knack for navigating the absolute chaos that encompassed the human wedding ritual with swift authority. As such, he’d been made her inadvertent Maid of Honor and no one had dared try to step up and remove the title from him.

They found time for dinner, of course, and Crowley would return home eventually once he was satisfied that everything would be going according to plan. Regardless of this, Aziraphale missed the constancy of their closeness. He supposed he should be alarmed; an immortal being wishing so profoundly for the presence of another. But it was Crowley. Crowley, as always, it seemed, was the exception to all of Aziraphale's rules. 

It had come upon him rather suddenly when he understood that what he truly desired was for he and Crowley to share space in a more...permanent fashion. Excitement and awe came next with the idea that the demon might just say yes. He only had to wait until after the celebration. He could do that.

He...would certainly _attempt_ to do that.

While Crowley was handling Anathema, he decided to focus his attentions on Newton. Who, well, had essentially shut down as the preparation week drew to a close. Truly, if Aziraphale hadn’t made sure the lad remembered to eat he was positive he would have found him face-first on the floor by the time they needed to usher him off to the wedding venue. It was still a near thing.

Anathema’s family had tried their hand at pushing a large, extravagant London affair, but the young lady was having none of it. She would not get married in some stuffy white hall to show off their wealth, she’d said, and instead had opted for a charming garden wedding that Aziraphale thought fit her much better. She and Crowley shared both an apparently limitless knowledge and affection for plant life.

While they certainly did not spare expense on the venue itself, Aziraphale could not help the fond smile on his face as he took in the intimate setting that had been created in the heart of the Kew Gardens. The aisle had been fashioned from black and violet rose petals, leading to a large square arch woven through with simply gorgeous royal purple amaryllis that were indeed a bit too perfect to have been the work of anyone but a certain demon; their faces spanning well the size of a sunflower head.

Sliding his pocket watch from his waistcoat, Aziraphale noted that it was almost time for him to gather up Newt. Aziraphale hoped he was no longer in the process of fainting, but he was prepared to miracle him a little courage if that was what it took.

He cast a final glance around the reception area; noting the display of the candles in deep purples and blues, awaiting their queue to be lit when the sunset. The tablecloths were a light lavender color and held twelve heads to a table. Name cards were placed in precise combinations at each table—ah, at least they were _supposed _to be, he thought shaking his head fondly as Crowley’s voice drifted across the garden:

“Now listen here, men! We’ve a very delicate mission, and I need you all to be at your best.” Crowley began, arms clasped behind his back like a general heading to war, walking in a line and back with his chin held high while the Them stood awkwardly in their finest clothes. Pepper eyed Crowley with an annoyed scrunch to her nose.

“Oi!—” She protested. 

“My apologies, you’re absolutely right." Crowley nodded without breaking stride. "Listen here _soldiers,” _He amended._” H_ere’s the situation.” The demon held up a stack of cards. “We are to be placing these names according to the chart provided by the Witch’s aunt, because, as she says, there are groups who simply _cannot_ be placed together lest we have a riot on our hands. Bad blood, and all that. Fun stuff.”

“Which aunt?” Wensleydale asked.

“The snotty one,” Adam said.

“Oh, you mean the lady from America with the bleached hair and the thin nose?” Brian sucked something sticky from his fingers, Aziraphale couldn’t be sure what from this angle, but he worried over the boy’s sharp navy jacket. “She didn’t like us coming over to steal Anathema’s chocolate.”

“It’s not stealing if she told us we could come when we liked!” Pepper cut in. Aziraphale chuckled from his perch. Crowley shot him a small smile before nodding at the children again.

“Yes, that’d be the one. See I believe that the best way to handle an argument is to face up to whoever is causing the problem, don’t you?” He shrugged, nonchalant; all pale skin and dark lines and a fang-filled smirk. “Seems awful for all these people to be on the outs during such a special day. So, how’s about we make this seating arrangement a bit more interesting?”

“Interesting? How does one make it interesting? It's a bunch of chairs.” Wensleydale jumped in again, his thin brows drawn tightly together. Adam narrowed his eyes at Crowley, they studied each other for a moment before Adam’s own lips split into a wide grin of his own.

“Ohhh, I think he means more _entertaining_.”

Crowley clasped a hand on his shoulder with a bright guffaw of laughter. “There’s a lad!” He gathered the children close, leaning their heads together. “There’s little more boring than a bland reception now, isn’t there? You’d all be falling asleep in your dessert. So I say we make a few small...changes if you will. What’dya say?

“I’m in.” Pepper and Adam said at once, teeth gleaming.

“Me too!” Brian said, his mouth somehow full again, nudging Wensleydale who seemed to be considering his options very carefully.

“Well, so long as we don’t get into any trouble...”

The amused crinkles around Crowley’s eyes deepened. “That’s the spirit! Now, here’s what we’re gonna do...”

Aziraphale hid his smile behind the rim of his glass, finishing his drink as he watched Crowley and the Them foster the type of mischief that even he didn’t have the heart to try and stop.

_Tempting children, Crowley. __R__eally._ He thought at him.

_Ah, it’s just a bit of fun, angel. No harm done. Well, not _ _ **real ** _ _harm._

The children watched him with rapt attention and a sort of respect as he crouched to their level in order to look them all eye. Something about their impish grins and the way Crowley became all soft around the edges brought warmth spreading from his chest to his fingertips, reaching out like it’s own entity as if to wrap around them all at once. _Oh_, but he always was such a wonder with the young ones.

Alas, it was time to leave the conspirators to their plans, and Aziraphale made his way to the main building to find Newt. The guests were arriving slowly, stopping to chat before they made their way out to the garden. Aziraphale smiled politely, navigating the sea of humans, each of them asking each other just who’s side of the family was he to be from? He enjoyed the air of mystery, just a tick.

“Honestly,” Aziraphale heard from a rather stout man with an unattractive sneer on his lips. His features were sharp, the same olive-toned skin and dark eyes that Anathema had. Most likely a relative of hers. “I don’t know what that girl sees in a man like that. If you can even call him a man, I mean have you seen him? He looks like someone who spent his high school years stuffed in a locker.”

Aziraphale tensed, feet turning before he had a chance to stop himself. Pursing his lips he called upon the now familiar shadows that allowed him to cause inconvenience in Crowley’s stead and with a languid tilt of his head he watched with mild satisfaction as the man tripped over his own too-large shoes, spilling deep red wine all over himself and his two companions only to slide in it and swing backward, losing the ghastly toupee he was wearing in the process of falling on his arse.

Screams and apologies flew across the room, people rushing to clean each other up. He made sure the stains set. Hard. Aziraphale clicked his tongue when the man started accusing his own companions of tripping him to hide his embarrassment.

Well, his demon wasn’t the only one who could cause a bit of trouble now and then, and Aziraphale found since the faux Apocalypse that he was more than willing to do so for his friends.

* * *

The groom’s room was set at the bottom of the stairs, of course, as the bride was usually to make a grand entrance from the staircase should they choose to hold the ceremony inside. Leaning up against the door, he tried to make out any voices and upon hearing Newton’s concerned tittering gently knocked.

“Come in!” A woman’s voice called and when Aziraphale opened the door, he was pleased to see it was Newt’s mother.

“Oh! Mr. Fell!” She smiled at him, a bit strained, still patting Newt’s shoulder in what he supposed was to be comforting. The young man’s head was in his hands and he was taking rather deep breaths.

“Mrs. Pulsifer. Always a delight.” The smile he gave her in return was genuine. “Are we well?”

“Oh, yes.” She said, lifting Newt’s chin from his chest with her hand. He looked like a frightened deer, the pallor of his skin at least two shades lighter than normal. “Just a bit of stage fright is all.”

Sympathy flared from him like a beacon as he took Newton in. Aziraphale knew that feeling, that insecurity, like the spines of his own books, like the backs of his own hands; the way love always felt at once too much and not enough. Like you’d burst with it and still somehow would never be quite what your lover needed. Made you question yourself, _and them_, and everything that had led you to the moment you’d always wanted but were too afraid to ask for.

“My dear, if you would.” Aziraphale lowered his voice for Mrs. Pulsifer. “I believe the poor boy is a bit nervous about his vows. I promised to go over them with him, but I think he’s a bit embarrassed. Would you mind if I?” He nodded his head towards Newt and she smiled, understanding.

“Of course not." She said, brushing her fingers through Newt's hair one more time before casting a grateful look at Aziraphale. "You're a wonderful friend to him Mr. Fell, thank you." 

"I am honored to be considered as such." Aziraphale smiled at Newt when the young man's head shot up. When his mother left, he straightened. 

"Thanks for that. Mum means well but ah..." Newt leaned back in his chair with a sigh and a wane smile. "Reminding me to stay away from the sound system isn't the most effective pep talk I've ever had to be honest. Tends to talk like I'm not in the room with her." 

"Oh, I'd imagine she's just excited," Aziraphale said. "It's a big day after all." 

"Big enough for me to cock it up rather spectacularly," Newt muttered miserably. "What if I ruin it for Anathema? She's worked so hard putting it all together, I've been all but useless and I just...I don't know what I've done to get this far, but I feel like I'm just going to drag her down with me." 

Aziraphale cut him off with a wave of his hand. "You do Anathema a disservice to think that she would choose you for any other reason than because she believes you are the partner she wants by her side." He softened his smile, stared into uncertain blue eyes and saw so much of himself there. "Newt, you are far more than the streak of bad luck that follows you. She sees that, and we do too. Yes, even Crowley." He finished when Newt opened his mouth to ask. "Though, getting him to admit it will be another trial for another day." 

Smiling now, Newt laughed at the image. "Sounds like I'm a bit outnumbered here."

"Yes, I rather believe you are." Aziraphale grinned. He caught sight of the clock on the wall and huffed, holding out his hand. "Come now, Mr. Pulsifer. I believe your wife is waiting." 

Newt stared at him for a long moment, startled at Aziraphale addressing Anathema as such. The angel could almost see the moment it really hit him; the fear, the disbelief, the joy, the _love_. Watched as something clicked into place when he met Aziraphale's eyes and then down to his hand. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, shoulders finally relaxing before taking his hand and allowing Aziraphale to pull him up.

And if Aziraphale pressed his influence into the boy's soul, if he smoothed back the strings of revenge and hatred that led him to be saddled with the consequences of an ancestors folly—well, Aziraphale was never one to come to a party without a gift of some sort. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest apologies for taking so long, the holidays always take a bit for me to recover. I want to thank you all for following this fluffy, soft-hearted thing with me. I hope the ending brings you joy.

The wedding was magnificent; simple and elegant. A sweet exchange filled with laughter and the thrill of something new. Aziraphale had expected nothing less. 

The reception, well…that was another matter entirely. 

“No harm, he says,” Aziraphale muttered as Crowley sidled up next to him looking far too pleased with himself for the angel’s liking. The warm slide of an arm around his waist did little to detract from his irritation. He winced as a rather sharp smack echoed out from across the courtyard, the woman who delivered it gathering her things and storming off from her table.“Oh Crowley, how could you?” 

“Dunno what you’re all in a tizzy about, angel,” Crowley replied with a positively irreverent grin that should not have been doing troublesome things to Aziraphale’s stomach. “Everyone else is having a good time aren’t they? And look, the Witch seems to be getting a kick out of it all, don’t you think?” 

Aziraphale shot him a glare from the corner of his eye, reaching out to grab on to the lapel of Crowley’s suit and pull until the demon’s ear was level with his mouth. “If I see that girl frown but _once_ because of this little trick of yours—” 

A kiss was pressed to his cheek, quick as the strike of a snake and Crowley was smiling at him again. “It’s all under control. Just a bit of fun, remember?” Crowley soothed. “Though have I ever told you how frighteningly attractive you are with that righteous twist to your mouth? Adorable.” 

Despite himself, Aziraphale felt the heat in his face rise to dangerous heights. “You’re a menace. Don’t try to distract me.” 

“Well aren’t you a charmer.” Crowley pulled his glasses down to wink at him, and as always the sight of those gleaming eyes sent a thrill through him. Still, he switched tactics; softening the lines of his mouth and eyes to gaze imploringly until he felt rather than saw Crowley roll his eyes as he acquiesced. “Alright. Alright! I’ll — do something about it.” He snagged Wensleydale by the collar as he tried to breeze past. “Oi, mate, change in plans…”

Aziraphale watched Crowley and the boy weave through the crowd with a private smile. The demon was in peak form tonight, he had to admit; utterly delightful to the adults and a (dubious) inspiration to the children in attendance. He knew it had been a while since Crowley had been able to cause mischief for mischief’s sake. Though Aziraphale would have preferred it hadn’t been at the wedding reception of two of their dearest friends. One certainly couldn’t account for Crowley’s timing. 

As of the moment the couple said, “I do.” there had been approximately three arguments, one physical altercation, and a rather unusual situation with the wedding announcer getting too drunk on sangria to function during the festivities. She’d been promptly removed, of course. Though Aziraphale had drawn the line at leaving her on the main street to recover, he did not miracle away the hangover she was sure to suffer come morning. 

Things were winding down now from the formality of the ceremonies to the festive of the after-party. Anathema had practically floated from the floor, radiant in her gown and her hair untamed in long waves down her back. She pressed close to Aziraphale and kissed his cheek before giving him a hug that he happily accepted as he whispered blessings into her hair. How long had it bee since he’d formed a genuine friendship with a human? Oh, centuries now, if he were to be honest, and he could not help spoiling them all just a little bit. 

“You are a vision, my darling girl.” He said when they parted. 

“I can’t thank you and Crowley enough for everything you’ve done.” Her eyebrow rose, suddenly teasing. “Especially for the entertainment.” 

Aziraphale sighed. “I _am_ sorry. You know how he gets. I’ve sent him off to fix it. Though I’m afraid the damage is already done for some.” His hands fluttered together, attempting to further express his apologies. He watched as Crowley deftly caught the hand of another angry woman as she went to launch what appeared to be an eclair at her date’s head, expertly spinning her into the arms of an unsuspecting Bridesmaid who paused and blushed bright red. Crowley flung his arms out as he met Aziraphale’s eyes and mouthed, “_Happy now?_”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes heavenward, lips pressing together as he raised his eyebrows and mouthed back “_Yes!_” 

He returned his attention to Anathema, his apology stalling on his tongue when he realized she was stifling laughter behind her hands. “Don’t apologize. I don’t mind him as much as he would like.” She said after a moment. “Besides, for the first time in my life, I didn’t know what was going to happen.” Her smile grew as she looked out, a new beginning in the shine of her eyes. The idea of freedom. “It’s a lot more fun this way.” 

“That’s certainly a good way to go about it,” Crowley replied from behind her. Aziraphale threw an exasperated glance his way. “You see, angel? The lady said more _fun_.”

“And what would you know about good ways?” Anathema smirked, then surprised Aziraphale and Crowley both by drawing the demon into a hug as well. He stood awkwardly for a moment, searching Aziraphale’s face for any kind of help or sympathy which the angel pointedly did not give. Instead, he smiled beatifically and nodded at the girl. Crowley made a face, still attempting to act put-upon, but returned the gesture. If he noticed the fond tilt of his mouth giving away his true feelings on the matter, Aziraphale did not bother to point it out. 

“Ach, don’t make a scene.” He stepped out of her arms. “Can’t be thanking demons for causing havoc, book girl, think of my reputation.” 

“Ah, of course. Can’t be letting anyone know you like people. How scandalous!” 

Crowley grinned. “Are we back to causing scandals then? That can be arranged—” 

“Mind yourself,” Aziraphale warned again. Crowley mimicked him in a childish, high pitched tone. 

Anathema’s laughter broke in again, such an easy sound. She squeezed both of their arms once more. “I need to go, we’ll catch up again a bit later. But I think my cousins have finally found the liquor. I’m sorry in advance.” She winked before fading into the throng of people once more. Unfortunately, her departure only signified the beginning of one of the most unpleasant sounds Aziraphale could safely say he’d heard ever in his very, very long life. 

“Aziraphale.” 

“Yes?”

“We never did get them to change their mind about the band, did we?”

“...No. No, I don't believe we did.”

“_Fuck._”

* * *

An hour later found them still suffering and trying very, very hard to not miracle away the problem when Anathema kept casting them amused looks when she happened back into their corner. She appeared to take much pleasure in the way Aziraphale and Crowley flinched with each new enthusiastic singer that graced the stage.

Crowley’s nose scrunched, his lips curling up as he glared hatefully at the man currently squalling drunk into the microphone. Aziraphale couldn’t suppress his wince as the man attempted to hit a note far too out of his range to be anything but a craggy shriek. Perhaps he should have worked harder to talk them into having a proper band; he honestly hadn’t been quite sure what the appeal was in the first place. To think anyone would prefer _this_ over a professional musician!

Movement out of the corner of his eye startled him and he grabbed onto Crowley’s hand, covering the long, nimble fingers that were currently poised to snap. 

“Leave it be.” 

“But he’s just so—” 

“I know.”

“And they’re—”

“Yes.” 

“If I die from this, I want you to know I will blame you forever,” Crowley grumbled, lowering his hand. 

Aziraphale threaded their fingers together and squeezed, tilting his head in thought. “Wasn’t this one of yours in the first place?”

The demon gaped, his mouth moving independently of the rest of his face. “Th—The seventies were a hard time for me, angel.” Crowley groaned. “I can’t be held responsible for the things I do when I’m upset.” 

“You very well can.” Aziraphale chastised, though there was no heart behind it. He remembered Crowley then. Crowley organizing a heist to steal Holy Water out of sheer desperation and fear. Crowley staring at him in the neon lights, expression drawn tight with something like a loss when he had to deny him further company out of his own cowardice. It had been a hard decade for Aziraphale as well. “But I suppose, in this instance, you can have a pass as it’s bothering you just as much as it is the rest of us.” 

Crowley tried to scowl at him but his lips slipped into a smile instead and Aziraphale drew their joined hands up to press his own to the bony knuckles he held. _Forgive me._ He thought. 

The demon didn’t ask where the plea came from. He simply shrugged, the lines of him loose and comfortable. _I love you._ Crowley pressed back, leaning in to brush their lips together in a kiss far too soft to steal the air from his lungs, yet it appeared to do so just the same. _It was really that simple. _

Everyone in the room relaxed when those final, fatal notes of the song faded into the background. Crowley leaned up quickly, gaze sweeping across the garden until he happened upon his target. He disappeared, the long strides of his legs taking him quickly to the man running the music. Aziraphale watched Crowley as he gestured; hands, face, legs, torso. The man couldn’t seem to keep up with his movements, instead opting to listen with terrified attention to whatever Crowley was telling him. 

By the time Crowley had turned away, the music had shifted to a jaunty, jazz-sounding instrumental that had the crowd scrabbling, drunk and careless now, to remove their shoes and grab partners. Crowley weaved around them, relief in the line of his shoulders and chin tilted just a little smug. Even when they were standing side by side once more, Aziraphale found it difficult to take his eyes off of him. 

The sun had set in entirety now and Aziraphale tutted at the realization that some of the fairy lights appeared to have died out. Well, _that_ wouldn’t do. He gestured with his free hand and the previously unlit areas were encompassed in a warm glow that reminded him immediately of that night Crowley took him to the gardens.

Someone yelled in surprise and Aziraphale watched as Wensleydale slid under the legs of one of the guests, sputtering apologies as he ran after Pepper and Brian who were laughing uproariously. Tracy was leading Shadwell in an awkward tangle, but bless him, he was certainly trying in the face of her quiet encouragement. Adam and Anathema were spinning in circles, Adam very serious in his attempts while Anathema couldn't suppress her giggles when he stepped on her toes. Newt was occupied with Anathema's mother, who was a rather stunning woman in her own right and seemed to charm Newton into something akin to comfort despite his slightly flailing limbs. 

All the while Crowley watched the ensuing chaos with a small smile of his own, resting casually against Aziraphale's side. There was so much love here, packed into this small stretch of greenery, and even more still coalesced into the line of heat at his side. His heart thrummed in his chest, a battle cry, a green light, a voice that demanded: _What in the world are you waiting for?_

He reached out to grab Crowley's hand, breaking his companion from his thoughts. Crowley, for all his swagger and the worrying amount of time he spent ignoring the laws of physics, had very graceful hands. The fringe of his hair fell over his brow as he turned to look at Aziraphale, and because he could, he reached up and brushed it away.

Oh, how desperately Aziraphale loved him.

"Angel?" 

In lieu of an answer, Aziraphale raised a brow at him, tilting his chin towards another expanse of the gardens away from the crowd. Crowley, intrigued now, and let Aziraphale lead him into the dark. 

When the sounds of the party became muffled and the darkness blanketed them, Aziraphale didn’t have time to formulate what he was going to say before long arms wound their way around his waist from behind. 

“I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I can assure you this is _not_ that.” He pursed his lips but did not move to dislodge the serpent, casting his gaze among the stunning plant-life and the sky full of stars. “Though I can’t argue that it would be terribly romantic. Next time, perhaps.”

Crowley huffed out a laugh, the sound almost disbelieving. Aziraphale turned his head, their faces brushing as the demon continued to hold him and raised an eyebrow in question. Long arms tightened around his waist and when Aziraphale threaded his fingers through Crowley's, his grin turned roguish but his voice remained soft.

"Sometimes I still can't believe you're real," Crowley whispered into his ear, breath ghosting against the sensitive skin there. "From the moment I first saw you, I wondered how anything could shine so bright." 

Aziraphale felt heat crawl up his neck, but even more distracting was the ache as his heart seemed to swell within his chest. He had always had a profound weakness for words; for the sweetness that dripped from the lips of those who knew love so well it had no choice but to escape to the air to be made whole. So many words had been spoken between them and yet every instance felt just as exhilarating as the first.

Instead of making an utter fool of himself by making it known, he resorted to teasing to hide the tremor that ran through him. "Well, I am an angel, Crowley. We do tend to get on with a bit of shine." 

That rasping chuckle whispered over his skin that did nothing to settle the sudden burning of his nerve endings. "Cheek." Soft skin nuzzled Aziraphale's hair and Crowley's whole body seemed to sigh in contentment at their closeness. "I looked at you, you know, at the beginning. Couldn't believe someone like you would ever bother looking back. But when you did...that was it for me.” Aziraphale found himself pulled flush against the demon’s chest, positively struck dumb by Crowley’s words and then again by the extraordinary pulse of love. “I've looked at you for six thousand years, angel, and every single time I do you manage to knock the breath clear out of me." 

Aziraphale froze, overcome with the sheer magnitude of affection that radiated from Crowley. Every place their bodies touched fizzled and popped and then soothed over into a heady balm that left Aziraphale awestruck with the force of it. _He’d_ been the one to call Crowley out here, and the serpent had gone and reached right into his burning chest without so much as a _how you do_. 

It was all he could do to clear the stars from his eyes, but despite being utterly dazzled, awed, and humbled; Aziraphale still had something very important to say. 

He spun around in the cage of Crowley’s arms, enjoying the surprised rise of his demon’s eyebrows at the sudden movement. His hands came up to rest on Crowley’s chest, fingers toying with the lapels of his jacket. Every part of his corporation suddenly felt too tight, too small to fit all the love he had for this being into one tiny corner of the universe. It was immense, this feeling. Would drown him if he didn’t catch himself from hurtling off this cliff. Aziraphale found he didn’t much mind. 

"Move in with me," Aziraphale said. Like the wild, reckless thing he didn’t know he was until this very moment. 

Something hit the perfectly trimmed bushes with such rapid speed that it left a hole, and when Aziraphale looked at Crowley again he saw Crowley's arm outstretched in the direction of the bush, his glasses gone and his jaw hanging open. Aziraphale had to breathe rather deeply to stop the hysterical laughter that threatened to bubble up in his chest when Crowley continued to stare at him.

"Y—Y-You want....what?" 

"My dear, this can hardly be a surprise to you," Aziraphale said after he collected himself, catching Crowley by the arm as the serpent looked ready to sway off his feet. "Greece was like a dream. You and I, sharing space, sharing a home. To wake up to your face each morning and not have to worry about how long it will be before I see you again...I want you near for as long as you wish to be there.+"

Crowley’s face had turned a spectacular shade of red in the moonlit garden. His pupils dilated and he didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. "Nngguh?"

Aziraphale faltered momentarily. It was really rather hard to tell which of those noises were good or bad. "Of course, I expect nothing of you, my darling. I know how you enjoy your independence, and I would never ask you to give that up. The bookshop, of course, is a bit small, but I had heard there were just lovely little cottages out in the country and—" 

Crowley's mouth on his effectively stalled his rambling and the neurons in Aziraphale's brain appeared to have issues with misfiring. His eyes closed before he could tell them to do so, but not before he witnessed the soft brush of eyelashes against Crowley's cheeks as he crowded close. His scent overwhelmed him, flooded his senses with everything that was Crowley and one by one he felt his insecurities melt away with every gentle touch of those beautiful hands on his face. 

When they finally parted, Crowley was smiling. 

"You know," He whispered, their foreheads still touching. "I’m starting to wonder if these surprise confessions of yours are some angelic ploy to discorporate me." 

Aziraphale preened. "Tosh. We both know you’re made of stronger stuff. Can’t have any of that now. You haven't answered my question yet." 

"Sounded like more of a demand than a question, angel." 

"_Crowley_."

It was Crowley's turn to chuckle and that laughter turned into more kisses until they were both breathless with it. "Yes, you idiot. As if there was ever any doubt." 

"Oh," Aziraphale sighed warmly, nuzzling into Crowley's cheek. "Jolly good, then!" 

Crowley groaned, long and loud. "Oh don't. Don't do that. Look, you've gone and ruined it. I take back my yes. Call me when you can stop being such a knob." Crowley made to pull out of Aziraphale's arms and Aziraphale huffed and caught him by one spindly hand to pull him back in. It was to Aziraphale's great pleasure to realize that Crowley was snickering when he anchored his arms around his waist. 

"Hush, you." 

"Ah, see, you've asked for this." Crowley's grin stretched along his cheek. "Stuck with me now, Aziraphale." 

What a thrill that thought was. What a delight. What a_ blessing_. He held Crowley close to him, basking in the feel of their bodies pressed together. Music drifted to them, muted and slow, and they swayed together in unconscious movements. Simply unwilling to part. Aziraphale's gaze flicked up to the sky once more, to the stars twinkling merrily in the sky. 

" I rather like the sound of that." 

* * *

**Four Months Later**   
**South Downs**   
**Eden Cottage**

  
Time had always moved differently for them; both at rapid speed and agonizing slowness in turn.

The last few months had run by them in a blur, but it was a happy blur. Full of warm nights where they curled around each other, bickering over how they were going to lay out their new home in the South Downs before they started moving in entirety. Days full of Crowley, sun-soothed and barefoot striding through the wild, blank canvas that was their new garden where he whispered threats and snide remarks to hide the fact that he was carefully assessing how to make sure he could keep them all. Of Aziraphale watching with amusement as the plants reached out for him as he stepped away; drawn to something in him that encouraged growth and beauty. Their garden would be the rival of all the surrounding towns if their instant affection for their serpent guardian was any indication. 

Aziraphale was almost shocked by the change at times. He’d thought that he would miss the bookshop, and he did, in away. But not with the same piercing ache he would have expected of the place he loved and cultivated as his own for so long. His books were still here, only laid out on bookshelves in his grand library that Crowley had threatened the walls of one of the guest rooms into. There was just enough light to be pleasant, but not enough that it would harm the tomes themselves. Perfect in that new way Aziraphale didn’t realize he longed for. 

The nights were beginning to chill in a way that called for a proper hearth fire. Aziraphale settled into their plush, modern, and considerably less back-breaking couch(yes, he could admit now that the sofa in his shop had lived its final moments about six decades ago) and breathed in the rich scent of his cocoa that he _did_ have every intention of finishing this time. With his reading glasses perched on his nose, Aziraphale slowly cracked open the book he held but did not expect to get much farther than the introduction when the shadow above the fireplace began to move. 

It was upon his perusal of page four that he felt the steady grasp and release of snake scales twist around his legs. He took a sip of his drink as Crowley crawled up the length of him until his great head was resting rather pointedly on Aziraphale’s sternum. Beautiful, yellow slit eyes stared up at him and Aziraphale’s mouth twisted to hide his laughter. Of which became quite a considerable feat when he realized Crowley hadn’t bothered to remove the deep navy blue sweater Aziraphale had attempted to knit for him. It hadn’t been a _complete_ failure, true, but Aziraphale would certainly not be putting any of their neighbors out of the running for best hand-made gifts. Crowley had grumbled and whinged and then had been found wrapped up in it more often than not as the weather took a turn for the worst. The fact that he was wearing it now in his serpent form was almost too much for Aziraphale to bear. 

“Is there something you need, dear?” Aziraphale asked, stroking along the scaled head. 

_M’Cold_. Crowley thought at him. _You’re warm. Put two and two together. _

Resting his chin in one hand, Aziraphale continued to brush against the length of Crowley’s neck with the other. “And I suppose you’re going to insinuate yourself into my space until I give in to your demands, is that it?” 

If snakes could grin, Crowley’s would be all teeth. _Exactly._ He slithered up until the tip of his nose was level with the mug Aziraphale held in his head; serpentine tongue flicking out to smell it before recoiling at the sweetness. Aziraphale laughed and nudged him away so that he could set it down. 

“Oh, if you must.” He tried to sound put out as he placed his book on the table as well, followed by his glasses before sliding down so that he could lie properly on the couch and open his arms. “Well?”

Crowley swayed for a moment before lowering himself until his head rested in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck. His long body had coiled around his legs in places before hanging off the couch._ I think this is my favorite part of retirement._

“Is that so? Not fighting with the garden committee?” Aziraphale asked, his voice all innocence.

_Sssshut up. Those people are charlatenssss!_

“Of course, dear.”

A moody hiss sounded and Aziraphle smoothed his hand down the length he could reach. Despite Crowley’s protesting grumbles, he relaxed again against Aziraphale’s body, the press of him cool and soothing where the firelight slowly filled the room with heat. There was such a thrum of contentment reaching out to every part of him that the angel almost forgot what he’d meant to do once Crowley decided to come out from his hiding space. 

“Crowley, not that I mind this form by any stretch, but would you mind changing back for a moment?” 

Another hiss. Aziraphale shifted, lifting Crowley’s serpentine head.

“Please?”

Visually, Crowley’s transformation could be anything from an instantaneous change or a slow-moving transition from human to serpent if he did not feel like expelling as much energy. Aziraphale marveled at the sensation of pure muscle mass reforming itself to accommodate two skinny arms and legs, redistributing the weight from the torso into extremities until smooth and endless scales became skin. Crowley hummed low, the sound rumbling up from the depths of his chest as he stretched. Aziraphale stroked his hair, unable to help himself from drawing him into a kiss when Crowley rolled against him as he adjusted. 

One of them moaned, one of them pressed forward. It was impossible to tell when they both wanted exactly the same things; with the same fervor and still desperate relief that this was something they could do without consequence. Someone’s hands brushed against a throat, someone’s teeth slid against lips. Aziraphale only knew enough of himself to be able to pull back to whisper a question into the tiny, scorching space between their mouths.

“Marry me?” 

This time Crowley didn’t sputter. He didn’t shake. He didn’t ask Aziraphale for confirmation in fear that he hadn’t heard right. Instead, he pressed himself up on his forearms to look down at Aziraphale with calm consideration. Long enough for the fog to clear from Aziraphale’s eyes to catch the gift he was granted in the form of the most heart-stopping smile he’d ever seen. “_Mr. Fell_.” He crooned, mimicking Aziraphale’s chosen accent. “I _truly_ feared you’d never ask.”

Aziraphale’s lips parted as his mind caught up to what he’d asked and then once more to the answer he’d just been given. The depths of him shook, shattering; dancing in ruination to return whole and new and utterly, marvelously happy. 

“Just so we’re perfectly clear. You…you do mean?”

“Yes, angel.” Crowley intoned, taking Aziraphale’s face in his hands. There were no barriers between them now. No truths left unsaid, no fears unturned. Just them laid bare and open. “I’m yours. Forever. In whatever way you want to have me.”

The dam broke without warning, but he didn’t need it. Not anymore. Aziraphale laughed long and loud, sitting up to wrap Crowley in his arms. Ecstatic as he laid kiss upon kiss on every inch of skin he could reach, Crowley’s own laughter the only sound he ever wished to hear again. He’d never have his fill of the particular taste of salt on Crowley’s skin, but once he was satisfied he dragged Crowley back down, shuttering their chuckles with his lips and they kissed until they forgot themselves and rolled unceremoniously into a heap on the floor. 

_Ah, yes._ Aziraphale thought with Crowley’s fingers in his hair, with their hearts pressed together and their souls entwined. _There you are. My missing piece. My love. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it. My first finished multi-chap for the first and most profound ship I've ever had. Thank you to everyone who read and continues to read this piece!


End file.
